


like a lullaby

by hailingstars



Series: irondad bingo [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Fix-It, Headaches & Migraines, In the sense that everyone lives, Irondad Bingo 2019, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Endgame, Stress, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Water Guns, brief and mild description of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: Peter didn’t know how much time passed before Tony’s dad reflexes kicked in.He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, hunched over a picnic table, with his head cradled in his hands, but he knew it wasn’t long.  Pain made time move slowly, and Tony found him fast.His and Morgan’s arrival was announced by a soft poke to his side.“Pete? Are you okay?” asked Morgan. He didn’t respond, didn’t know if he was still capable of producing words. “You were right, dad. Homework ate Peter.”ORPeter gets a migraine and Tony takes care of himIrondad Bingo: Trope: Hair Playing





	like a lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> happy Sunday! here's another post-endgame, everyone lives, one-shot!! enjoy!!!

Peter wiped sweat off his forehead and tried to ignore the aching at the back of his eyes.

Usually he regretted ignoring it. Usually it was a sure sign a migraine was coming, but he clung to denial and continued to glare at his laptop screen, trying to see the words on the screen out in the blinding sun.

That probably wasn’t helping him fight off the incoming migraine, but it couldn’t be helped. It was a nice day, and if he was stuck studying and doing homework on a day like that, he could at least do it outside. 

He’d set up a study station with his laptop, notebooks, highlights and textbooks outside, on a picnic table, under a tree, next to the lake. It was that spot exactly that made Tony’s lake house his favorite place to study. It was quiet, where the city was loud with sirens and arguing and the temptation to ditch school work in favor of swinging through the streets as Spider-Man. 

He’d rather be doing that. 

He was good at being Spider-Man, good at helping people, and once he’d been good at school, too. Not anymore. He’d come back from the dead, rematerialized, but not all of him. He lost something, he just wasn’t sure what it was. 

Peter liked to say part of his brain got jumbled and wires were criss-crossed when they were being pulled back together. Tony liked telling him he was wrong.

“It’s anxiety,” he’d told him. The boat under them had rocked, and Tony cast his line out into the lake. 

Peter remembered watching it as it soared through the air, and landed off in the distance, the orange bobber moving with the water. He still didn’t know why they were fishing. They had never been before, and haven’t been since, but ever since Peter came back from the dead, Tony had gone crazy doing those types of things. 

He was all fun and games, all the time. Peter supposed that was a privilege well earned by the man who saved the world. 

“I can’t focus on anything,” Peter had told him, as if to say it wasn’t anxiety. It couldn’t be. “I’m behind in all my classes.” 

Tony had taken his eyes off his bobber and shot him a look of concern. “Let me set you up with a therapist.”

He had refused. 

He didn’t need to sit around and talk about his problems with a stranger who wouldn’t understand. It wouldn’t help. He had Spider-Man to help relieve tension and stress. He’d made a decision that day on the boat. He’d just have to work harder and study more hours. 

And that was what he did or at least, that’s what he tried to do. 

The ache in his eyes was tightening into something like a band around his entire skull. He glared at his computer screen, scratched at the back of his hand, then copied down what he thought were the important chunks of text, only to cross them out and write something else in their place. 

It didn’t matter, though. Just seconds later, after crossing out even more of his notes and aggressively carving an x through the page, he was blasted in the side of the head with water. He whipped his head around, and his eyes narrowed in on Tony. He stood nearby and wore a sling around his arm that supported a giant, Tony-Stark-upgraded water gun.

All fun, all games, all the time.

“Watch where you’re shooting that thing,” said Peter. He smoothed down the area of his hair that’d taken the blast. “You’re going to get my books wet.” 

“Guess that means it’s time for a break, then.” 

“I can’t,” said Peter. He tapped his pen against this notebook. He had so much work to do, so much catching up, and Tony knew this, because Peter explained it to him just about a million times. 

“Play water wars with me and Morgan,” said Tony. He leveled the gun at him in a threatening manner, then patted the tank that held the ammunition. “Or face the consequences.” 

Peter stared down the barrel of the gun. “You know it’s supposed to be the kid distracting the adults away from work, right? Where did all the adults go, by the way?”

His response earned him another blast from the water gun. The water felt good on a day like that, and he didn’t mind it, even it did splash off him and sunk into the pages of his notebook. It made him wish he could go play with Tony and Morgan, that he wasn’t stuck at a picnic table doing homework on the first day of his three-day weekend. 

“Being a grown up is overrated,” said Tony. “Ask Rhodey. But okay, fine, be boring and responsible while Morgan and I have fun.”

Peter watched him go, then tried to return his focus back on his classes. 

It wasn’t the easiest feat to pull.

It was hot. There were beads of sweat prickling down the back of his neck, and the glare from the sun hitting his computer screen tightened the invisible band around his skull. He shut the computer and switched to his textbook. It didn’t help much. 

The words on the page were scrambled just like Peter’s brain, his mind wandered, his knee started to bounce. He was suffocating. 

Any second he was going to stop breathing, he was going to disintegrate there at that table. Any second, the end was coming. His breath hitched. He gripped the edges of the picnic table with both hands to keep himself tethered to the earth and took a deep breath. 

Out and in, like he read online. He was fine. Thanos was dead. The infinity stones were back where they belonged, and Tony had saved the universe.

Fine. Everything was fine.

He was fine.

A swan swooped down out of the sky and landed in the lake. He stared at it, took another deep breath, and for a second time, returned his eyes back to his books.

It hit him all at once. A sudden explosion of pain in the back of his neck and his forehead. He couldn’t attempt to plow through it, so he gave up instead. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and held them there as he let his upper body fall over the picnic table, all top of all his books.

*

Peter didn’t know how much time passed before Tony’s dad reflexes kicked in.

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, hunched over a picnic table, with his head cradled in his hands, but he knew it wasn’t long. Pain made time move slowly, and Tony found him fast.

His and Morgan’s arrival was announced by a soft poke to his side.

“Pete? Are you okay?” asked Morgan. He didn’t respond, didn’t know if he was still capable of producing words. “You were right, dad. Homework ate Peter.”

She grumbled another wordy sentence about never wanting to go to school, and Tony laughed.

“He’s not been eaten,” said Tony. He put a soothing hand on Peter’s back and started rubbing circles. “Right, Pete? Please don’t tell us the books won, or Morgan will be traumatized.” 

Peter groaned and tried to focus on the comfort Tony’s hand brought, on the circles, instead the pain in his head. 

“I need actual words, bud. Confirmation that you’re still in there.”

“Head ‘urts.”

“Just like dad, huh?” asked Tony, with a sigh. “Tried to work through a headache only to make it worse.”

It was hard for Peter to think back and remember the times when Tony was work obsessed. 

That time seemed so far away. Ever since the snap, ever since Morgan was born, and Peter was brought back, Tony didn’t work. He created, but that was different from work. Creating was for fun, and usually resulted upgraded water guns or other fancy toys to entertain Morgan. 

“Ok come on, you’re done.” 

“But –“ said Peter. It was just the beginning of a protest, and it was one he couldn’t finish, so he didn’t even try. Instead he let Tony coax him up from the picnic table and into the house, where he was hit with cool air and shelter from the sun.

“Lights to 20, Fri,” said Tony, as they walked into the living room. 

Tony grabbed some pillows, sunk into the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He put the pillows against his lap and made a gesture with his arm for Peter to come and lay down.

Once his head hit the pillow, Tony put his cool, metal, prosthetic hand against Peter’s forehead. It was instant relief. It didn’t take all the pain away, but it let Peter close his eyes and imagine he might feel normal again someday.

“Dad, is Peter dying?” asked Morgan.

“No honey, he’s okay, his head just hurts a little bit, so we’re going to keep the lights low and our voices quiet, alright?” said Tony. He put his fingers, his real fingers, through Peter’s hair, again and again. “Hey Morgunna, want to do us a favor?”

“Yeah.” She reduced her voice to a whisper. 

“Go find mom and tell her we need a water bottle, the cold pack from the freezer and the migraine medicine, the strong stuff. Think you can remember all that?” 

“Mmhmm,” said Morgan, and Peter listened as her tiny footsteps got further and further away until they were gone, and all he wanted to focus on was Tony’s hand running through his hair and his other planted on his forehead. If he could just get lost in that, and the comfort it provided, maybe he could at least pretend his head wasn’t about to explode. 

When Pepper came into the living room, and brought all the items Tony requested, he made him sit up, just long enough to take a few sips of water and wash the pills down. He collapsed back down on the pillow immediately afterward, but when Tony’s hand didn’t come back to rest on his forehead, Peter grabbed it and moved it there himself.

Tony took it back, and Peter made a disgruntled sound until it returned, that time, to press the cold pack against his forehead instead of just the metal. 

Like a soothing lullaby, the kind with rhythm, but also the kind that didn’t need words, his fingers started working their way through his hair again. It was relaxing. It lured him to sleep, and he drifted in and out as the medicine took effect and the pain ebbed away.

He stayed half-conscious, listening but not really comprehending Tony and Pepper as they chatted. The TV had been set to low, and at some point, Peter had gotten jostled when Morgan climbed on Tony to give him goodnight kisses. Sometime after that, someone had tossed a blanket over him. 

His headache was reduced to just something dull, just leftovers from what it was before, so, slowly, he sat up. Tony was still there with him on the couch, and he watched Peter as he rubbed his eyes and took a drink from the water bottle on the coffee table. 

“Better?” asked Tony, as Peter screwed the cap back on the water and set it down on the table.

“Yeah,” said Peter, and his words came out like a breath of relief.

“Does that happen a lot?” asked Tony. Peter stared back at him. “Do you get headaches like that a lot?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say _a lot_.” 

“How many times in a week?”

He shouldn’t have sat up. He should have pretended that he was still asleep, or that his homework really had eaten him. Either of those options were preferable to this interrogation. He knew it was an interrogation. Tony was using the Dad Voice, and it demanded his answer. 

“Maybe like two or three times,” said Peter. He sunk back into the couch cushions, wishing he could disappear inside them. 

Tony let out a tired, weary sigh. “That’s too many, Pete. You don’t have to live like that.”

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how _not_ to live like that. 

“I want you to see a therapist,” said Tony. He was still using the Dad Voice, and Peter knew giving his complaints a voice wouldn’t matter if Tony had already made up his mind, so he went with logical instead.

“I should be seeing a neurologist.”

“May’s told me you’ve already been,” said Tony. “But I thought it had been resolved since I hadn’t heard anything else about it for months.” 

Peter wondered when May had told Tony about the headaches, how often they discuss him with him knowing anything about it.

“She also told me she’s been trying to get you to go to therapy, too,” said Tony. Apparently a lot. They talked about him a lot. “She says you’ve been stressed out and anxious, and so this isn’t your choice anymore, I’m making an executive decision.”

He stared at him and guessed that was that. Whatever Tony decided, May would go along with. They both just really took the whole co-parenting idea too far. 

“No shame in getting help,” he continued. “I wish I would’ve started therapy a lot sooner than I did.” 

“I’m going to bed,” said Peter, standing up from the couch. He left the dark living room and Tony as cold, as fast, as he could. 

He regretted it as soon as he was in his own bed, under the covers, with his head on a different pillow. Without Tony’s hand singing lullabies through his hair, he tossed and turned the rest of the night. 

* 

“It’s time to get up! It’s time to get up!”

Peter blinked his eyes open, but absolutely refused to move. He was stubborn and wanted to hang onto sleep as long as possible. His bed was moving, though. It was shaking under him, because Morgan Stark was jumping up and down somewhere near his feet 

“It’s time to plllayyyy!”

A few drops of water hit the back of his head, and he sat up quickly. Morgan wore shorts, a t-shirt, and had a bandana tied in her hair. She had war paint on her face, and a tiny plastic water gun in her hand. 

Like father, like daughter.

Peter imagined himself jumping out of bed and finding his own water gun, imagine chasing her and Tony around the yard, and wished he had the time for it. Thanks to his migraine yesterday, he missed a whole day of work and now had to play catch up instead of water guns.

“I’m sorry, Morgan,” said Peter. “I can’t. I’m too busy today.” 

She finally stopped jumping and titled her head at him. “Dad said that you’d say that, and he also told me to tell you he’s taking all your school stuff hostage and the only way to get it back is by force.” 

“Of course he did.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed, and his feet hit the carpet. “Where is he?” 

“Outside,” said Morgan. She jumped off his bed and followed him out into the hallway. “You should probably get a shield or something because he still has the super soaker 3000.” 

“I’ll be okay.”

“But there’s this really cool one in the garage. We used to use it all the time.” 

“Pretty sure dad gave that one back,” said Peter, as they both made it to the bottom of the staircase. 

Peter marched out of the house, fueled by anger he was too spent to feel last night. It wasn’t fair Tony was forcing him to go to therapy. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t seem to understand how important school was to him, and that he insisted on playing games instead of getting work done. 

He spotted Tony on the dock, with the super soaker 3000 strapped around his chest, but that didn’t stop him. He continued his march towards him, and Morgan continued following him, up until the grass became wood. He went on without her, and with Tony watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

He shouldn’t look so surprised. The genius had to know what was coming. 

“Where’d you put my school stuff?” demanded Peter. 

“Oh,” said Tony. “Did Morgan not tell you my terms?” 

Peter wanted to roll his eyes but resisted in attempt to look less like a teenager, and more like someone to fear. He wondered if it was what happened when superheroes got old and retired. They had to play out their battles with children and water guns. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” said Tony. He pumped the gun a few times. “And you came all the way out here without a weapon.” 

A drop of sweat dripped across the back of Peter’s neck. It was so hot, just like it had been the day before. The sunlight gleamed against the lake, and an idea came like a spark, one that must’ve lit up his eyes.

“Parker don’t you dare –“

He did dare. 

Peter shoved Tony off the dock but hadn’t been considering that his reflexes were so incredibly sharp. He put all the blame on the prosthetic. The same hand that cooled off his forehead the night before locked around his arm, and they both fell into the lake, plunging into the water at the exact same time. 

Underwater, Peter yanked his arm free from Tony’s grip and breached the surface. Between earfuls of water he could hear Morgan laughing from the shore and Tony splashing around next to him.

“That’s cheating,” said Tony. He sent a splash Peter’s way, and he failed to dodge it.

Peter spat out lake water. It drizzled down his chin. “No it’s not. It’s winning.”

“It’s a draw, smartass.” He swam closer and dunked him under with the prosthetic arm. Peter came back up just in time to hear Tony finish with, “ _That’s_ winning.” 

He spat out more lake water, except that time, he aimed it at Tony, then shook his head back and forth, trying to air out his hair. They splashed each other a few more times while they treaded water, until Tony got clobbered in the eyes with water, and Peter laughed. The sound was like a slap in the face for both of them. Tony stopped rubbing his eyes, stared, blinked.

It was a sound that had been missing, but not discovered as missing until it was found again. 

His muscles were looser, when he hadn’t even realized they’d been tight, and when he met Tony’s stare, the idea that he’d been right along wafted around in the air. The snap hadn’t fried his IQ, it broke something in his spirit. 

“Dad!” Morgan shouted. “Can I come swim, too?” 

“Uh, yeah, stay right there,” said Tony. He blinked at Peter a couple of times, as if seeing him for the first time, then started his swim over to her. “I have to go find your water wings.” 

“Awww dad I know how to swim.”

“Too bad. You’re wearing floaties until you bring home a few gold medals.” 

Peter followed Tony to shore, but only to go inside and switch his soaking pajamas out for his swim trunks. 

He spent the rest of the day doing backflips off the dock to impress Morgan and laughing at Tony when he tried to pull of the same moves. His mocking got him a few blasts of water from the super soaker 3000, but he didn’t mind. 

They had dinner outside, once Tony put his water guns down long enough to man the grill, and after the sun went down behind the lake, Peter was just as burnt as the marshmallow on the end of his stick. They sat around the fire, eating smores, chatting, laughing for hours, and Peter didn’t want it to end.

It had too, though, and the ending to that night was signified by Tony standing from his chair. 

“Alright, time for bed, Morgan.” 

She didn’t answer. She was already asleep, faceup in the grass, and holding a half-eaten s’more in one hand.

“Out like a light,” laughed Pepper. She was the one to pick her up off the ground, while Tony took the s’more out of her hand and tossed it into the fire for the flames to eat. “I’ll take her to bed. You guys should… talk.”

Peter waited until Pepper disappeared inside the house with Morgan before he stared at Tony. Just the fire sat between them. He didn’t have any of the anger he’d had before. He knew Tony was right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I don’t want to talk,” said Peter, but he didn’t want to be alone, either. “I just… do you wanna watch a movie?” 

“Sure, buddy,” said Tony. “I’m picking though. I’m not watching another Star Wars or Harry Potter movie for as long as I live.” 

Peter didn’t care what movie went on the TV. He didn’t plan on watching it. He was tried from swimming but didn’t trust himself to fall asleep on his own. When they both plopped down on the couch, Peter used Tony as a pillow and waited for him to start playing with his hair, waited for the lullaby to start, so he could drift off, and actually get some rest.

*

Rain pounding against the house woke Peter up the next morning.

He blinked his eyes open, and crawled out from under Tony’s arm, careful not to wake him up. Tony was still snoring as Peter stepped out of the living room, so he figured he’d been successful.

His feet took him out to the porch automatically. He needed to watch it, and hear it more clearly, the way the rain hit the lake, the way it made everything new and fresh. Besides that, the mist that blew on the porch with the breeze felt good on his sunburnt face.

It was relaxing, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that relaxed, that rested, and that was sort of the problem. He hadn’t realized something was wrong until he had a day that felt right. He didn’t know there was another way to live, the way he used to live, until Tony forced him to see it. 

But his realization came a little bit too late. It was Sunday, and later on he’d have to drive back to the city. The next morning, he’d have to return to school. 

The front door opened with a squeak, and Peter turned just in time to see a tube of Aloe flying at his head. He caught it with one hand and tried to make a face at Tony. It turned into a grimace, into regret, as the sunburn crinkled with pain. 

“You’re a lobster,” said Tony, as he walked across the porch to stand next to him. “Ever heard of sunscreen? It’s this magical stuff that keeps us all from getting skin cancer.” He put his hands on the wooden handrail, then looked at Peter. “What are you doing out here, anyway?" 

“I was just – I was watching –“

“-We have a lot of work to do.” 

Peter frowned again. “But you-“

“I figured I could help you knock out some of that studying before you leave today,” said Tony. He gestured beyond the porch. “What else are rainy days for?”

“I was thinking about that,” said Peter. “Maybe I don’t go back today. Maybe I stay an extra night.” 

“That’s an awful long way to drive first thing in the morning, right before school, Pete.”

“Maybe I take the day off school.” 

“A day off, huh?” asked Tony. He swiped the aloe from Peter’s hand, and popped open the cap. “And what would you do on this day off?”

“Maybe we can take Morgan to the zoo,” Peter suggested, with a shrug. “And there’s this new ice cream shop she’d love near central park.”

“She does love ice cream,” said Tony. He squeezed some aloe into his hands. “And it’s been awhile since we’ve been to the zoo.”

Peter closed his eyes and cringed, waited for his face to hurt as Tony attacked him with aloe, but the gel felt cool as it was spread over his forehead and both his cheeks. Once he was done, Peter opened his eyes, seeing Tony as he set the tube down on the handrail.

“Then maybe after we can see if we can find any therapy, uh, places, in my area,” said Peter. He swallowed a lump in his throat. It was harder to admit than he wanted it to be, but once it was out, it was a breath of fresh air. 

Tony grinned at him, pulled him into a hug before Peter had a chance to react, and kissed the top of his head through his hair. They broke out of the hug, only for Tony to aggressively mess up his hair.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” said Tony. He was still grinning as he turned and walked back towards the front door. He paused, with his hand on the door frame. “I gotta go fabricate an email to your school about you having the flu.”

Peter looked back out towards the lake, where the rain was still beating into it. It was fine. Everything was fine, the universe, the world, _his_ world, and someday, he would be fine, too.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out on Tumblr if you want 
> 
> [hailing-stars](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)
> 
> comments and kudos bring me life
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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